


The Street Performer and The Public Defender

by ZeroToWeirdo



Series: Hartwin Meet-Cutes [8]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Audrey hepburn - Freeform, Dont ask just read, Fluff, He deserves more screentime, M/M, Meet-Cute, Merlin is just mentioned, Sadly, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 15:57:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroToWeirdo/pseuds/ZeroToWeirdo
Summary: One of them is a public defender, the other is a street peformer. Two different walks of life, converging into one from a twist of fate and a shared hardship. Namely, cold English weather.





	

Harry was a rather important person. He'd like to stress that right off the bat, lest there be some confusion on the matter.

 

He was a renowned public defender specialising in the defense of troubled, underprivileged minors. He was the unsung hero (except by a few liberal blogs, of considerable repute, might he add) of petty criminals stuck on a one-way freight train to nowhere-good, all victims in their own right of the three main systems that create such ‘criminals', namely Classism, Poverty and Social Services.

 

He went out of his way to help his clients beyond the courtroom, often spending ridiculous amounts of his spare money and time on giving back to communities and throwing himself into educational efforts for less fortunate youths. For his efforts, he was often cast within a certain limelight and was propositioned more than once to campaign in one political field or another, but had refused every time.

 

He was a firm believer in the good in all, especially the young, and refuses to condemn a generation born in a prison of prejudice and slaves to the bad hands dealt to their fathers.

 

He believed everyone deserved a chance.

 

That being said, as such an important person of social stature within the London community...it was really a wonder why he was walking to a Tube station at 11.00pm on a Wednesday night, being buffeted on all sides by icy showers, his umbrella taking it all like a champ but clearly fighting a losing battle, his oxfords now more akin to buckets of water and his glorious mane, a skullcap on his throbbing head.

 

He hissed a quick ‘piss off’ at a cab driver that slowed to see if he needed a ride, though he person he truly wanted to curse was probably warm and toasty in his own house because he hadn't been stupid enough to make a bet on how long he could endure using public transport like a pleb.

 

Alright, so while Harry was important and rather philanthropic, he did apparently have a bit of a mouth on him, as well as a disdain for the London Tube system, which may have been a result of his own incapability of getting the routes right.

 

That being said, after having called the Tube a ‘plebeian mode of transport’ to defend his insecurity in his own capabilities of utilising what he felt was a far too complicated system (like a bloody ant farm down there, just tunnels and stairs and people everywhere and the signs do no good when you have to walk so bloody fast or risk being trampled and you're halfway out of the city before you realise you’re going the wrong direction), Merlin (coworker, friend, satan) had bet him he couldn't last a month taking the tube that apparently only poor people utilised. He'd called him a stuffed up suit and tie to add insult to threat.

 

Of course instead of apologising and owning up to his shortcomings, Harry had accepted the bet. Hence his current Hell-like predicament.

 

The first two days of the bet had been rather simple, himself getting lost only a few times. After the second day, he had begun to get the hang of it. Sadly, on his third day, he had been detained at work in a pressing case of a runaway-turned-thief and had left the office later than intended. This wouldn't have been a problem had he been able to take a cab, or had he known that certain Tube lines (chiefly, his) were not active at night.

 

Having been incapable of the first and ignorant of the second, he found himself trudging from one station to the next where the ‘night line’ was apparently available for transit, which after a long and confusing conversation with a long-suffering security guard at the station, he discovered would be a three part transit ending in a long walk that he dreaded thinking of.

 

When he finally reached Kings Bridge station he thought he was convinced his life was inherently cursed as the cold air began settling in his shivering shoulders. Running through the route in his mind once more, he stood in front of a light-box display of the underground map, consulting his damp recipe of instructions a la security guard in his hand.

 

He was considering staying next to the map till the train arrived, when he noticed a soft strumming nearby, which paused as an equally soft voice said “thank you”.

 

Halfway across the station, he saw a young man sitting next to another light-box display (it only made sense, since it _was_ emanating heat) packing a guitar up after what appeared to be his last audience walked away.

 

He sat back down tiredly once the instrument was safely secured in its case and all the spare change he'd received had been pocketed. Harry couldn't quite put his finger on why the scene made him slightly wary, till he took a good look at the young man.

 

He looked young.

 

Possibly too young to be busking in a night-train station at midnight.

 

Harry pondered the pros and cons of confronting the situation, and decided a closer look was in order, just to be sure.

 

He found himself shuffling his way towards the young man, who had already placed earphones in his ears and for all appearances sake seemed to be napping, only to find that on closer inspection he wasn't that young after all. He was also very attractive, if a little tired-looking, but that was hardly of import.

 

So, having decided to abort his ‘confront the underaged runaway’ approach, he sat down on the bench on the other side of the young man, about a foot away from him. It took him all of a few seconds to realise that his presence had gone wholly unnoticed.

 

“Great, now I'll look like a sneeky creeper.” Harry thought to himself. He wondered if he should beat a hasty retreat before the young man noticed his presence, or if that would appear even more suspicious if his movements were noticed.

 

He was even considering alternative options such as starting a conversation and riding off into the sunrise together, or possibly throwing himself on the tracks for how much of an awkward git he was, when he young man began humming.

 

At first, Harry couldnt quite place the tune, until he began singing the first familiar phrase.

 

“All I want is a room somewhere, far away from the cold night air, with one enormous chair! Oh, wouldn't it be lovely?”

 

Lovely, yes, absolutely. Harry agreed. Warm rooms and soft chairs were wonderful. But not nearly as wonderful as this musician’s voice. He could feel the longing in the words sung, and he almost longed to see the chair this man was undoubtedly envisioning at that moment.

 

“Lots of chocolate for me to eat, lots of coal making lots of heat. Warm hands, warm face, warm feet, oh wouldn't it be lovely.” he sang on, and Harry wondered how he managed to make something as normal and basic as warm hands sound so very novel, to the point where his heart ached to understand the lack this young man must have in his life.

 

Even singing of simple inactivity of a day ‘in’, with words of not moving till the season changed, somehow managed to make Harry long for similar things. It was outlandishly preposterous to want to do nothing, but this young man made him want to do so...if only to do so with _him._

 

The young man paused for a moment, before continuing in a hush that seemed almost reverent in nature, “Someone's head resting on my knee. Warm and tender as he can be....who takes good care of me. Oh wouldn't it be...” he sighed deeply and let his head fall back with a smack into the light box. “...lovely.” he muttered finally, scrubbing a grubby paw over his face.

 

Harry was overcome.

 

He reminded himself that he was in fact an important person of renown (refer to paragraph one through four) and a heartbreaking song from an old Audrey Hepburn movie sung by an unfairly attractive and talented street performer was _not_ something that should cause him to question every belief he held.

 

It should not, could not make him wonder _how_ he could be considered a person of _any_ significance if he did not in this very instant give this young man a warm house and a comfy chair and a fountain of chocolate and genuine affection.

 

How could he be a man worth his salt, if he did not take care of...of...

 

“I'm sorry, but, what is your name?”

 

The yelp that escaped the young man's throat echoed through the empty station and they both stared at each other a while.

 

“I'm sorry?” the young man stammered back, pulling the earbuds from his ears.

 

“May I know your name?”

 

“....Eggsy? I mean, Eggsy.”

 

“Ah yes. Thank you.”

 

How could he be a man worth his salt, if he did not take care of Eggsy?

 

A loaded question indeed. Sadly, one for another day, as the man was clearly staring at him in apprehension and a good dose of curiosity.

 

“I'm Harry. Harry Hart.” Harry announced, before tacking on quickly “I'm sorry if this seems a little forward of me, but might I ask, are you homeless?”

 

The young man shook his head slowly, looking to be stuck between being affronted and amused. “Just a struggling arts student, mate.” he responded.

 

“Ah good. Good.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“Yes. I wasn't entirely sure how to broach the subject of asking you out for coffee should you have been homeless. The imbalance of power would have been quite the hurdle, you see, and I would hate for my genuine attractions to appear to be manipulative or ill-contrived.”

 

Eggsy stared at him a moment longer, before bursting into laughter. Harry would have laughed along if he had not felt this may have been a rejection. Well, at least the view was lovely.

 

“I have never been asked out like this before.” Eggsy conceded after catching his breath.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. Believe it or not, people don't tend to ask out those they think may be homeless.”

 

“Well that's hardly fair. I'm sure there are plenty of charming homeless people in London.”

 

“You're ridiculous.” Eggsy announced, his grin making the statement more of a compliment, and Harry could only grin in return.

 

“Not too ridiculous for a coffee date, I hope.”

 

“Just ridiculous enough, as it were. I'm very attracted to ridiculous people.” Eggsy announced, pulling out his phone and motioning to Harry to give him his number.

 

They spoke for a while till the train arrived and Eggsy accompanied a harried Harry through the first two transits of his route, neither mocking nor judging his tendency to lose his way through the labryth that was the London underground. They parted with plans for the following day and a smile, and Harry was so pleased he didn't get mad that he lost his way twice before reaching home.

 

The month went by much quicker after that, though Harry seemed to be staying in late and taking night trains for the entire time, followed by taking a strangely out-of-the-way route by cab that passed by a certain arts college as soon as the bet was won.

  
After all, Eggsy wanted someone to take care of him, and Harry knew when he was needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Its about time I incorporated some My Fair Lady songs into a Hartwin fic. Shocked I havent done it earlier, tbh. 
> 
> Also, I find I get so lost in underground subway systems like in Singapore (havent been to London) in ways that doesn't happen above ground. Its depressing. The struggle is real.


End file.
